


The Last Aria

by fancywaffles



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Hurt/Comfort, War is hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: Dorothea had always wanted her life to be like an opera. She hadn't expected it to be a tragedy, but war drew the curtain over them all.(or, opposite route angst for everyone)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	The Last Aria

**Author's Note:**

> For Dorogrid Week 2020. Read the tags. I have written lighter fare for them [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887691) if this is too depressing.

“Not time for a finale when we haven’t had an encore,” Dorothea said, mostly to say something. It was difficult talking to a person slung over a horse, but if she didn’t talk to them (to her) then she’d let in all the panic that was starting to seep around the edges.

Ingrid, said slung horse person, did not respond. It was hard to hear if she was still breathing, over the light clip-clops of the horse Dorothea had managed to secure in the midst of all that chaos. Claude and the Professor were likely going to have words with her, or think she died, or that she ran off.

Could she run off?

That was a question for a better time, such as not being exhausted carrying an injured enemy combatant across _actual_ enemy territory so that she didn’t die. Ingrid couldn’t die. Life had always been cruel in its ways, but Dorothea deserved at least that much.

Didn’t she?

“I wasn’t able to save your pegasus,” Dorothea said, feeling again behind Ingrid’s ear to check for a pulse. “I was only able to get you stable enough to travel.” She swallowed against the cold silence of only her and the horse’s footsteps crunching into fallen leaves. If they didn’t find somewhere to stop soon, she wasn’t going to be able to do anything for her.

“I know, I know, traveling during the middle of a battle? Such a terrible idea, but I’ve never been shy of attempting those occasionally. And besides, there wasn’t any way I was going to be able to settle your wounds in the field. I’m… quite drained.”

 _Meteor_ was a spell that sometimes Dorothea never wish she’d learned. It had been a comfort at first, to learn something so powerful and to be taken seriously for once, and in a very selfish way to be able to attack from such a distance that she didn’t have to be privy to the death she was causing. It was a spell that she was very good at and it was a very exhausting one.

It was also the reason Ingrid was injured on a horse, which did nothing to help the tightness bearing on her chest and the tears stinging her eyes that she was attempting to ignore.

“Why did you have to be there?” Dorothea said. “We weren’t even… we were defending ourselves and you’re not _supposed_ to be our enemy!” She did a breathing exercise from her opera days to stop the tightness in her chest from climbing into her throat. “It’s all so… jumbled now isn’t it? We can’t even have clear cut lines. We’re fighting old friends and even those that should be our allies are also fighting old friends and it’s…”

She sniffed and checked Ingrid’s pulse again and once the slow, but steady, beat touched her fingertips, she lifted her chin and kept on.

“We’ll find somewhere to rest soon, my Ingrid, and then I’ll get you all fixed up, I promise.”

* * *

They did find somewhere. A lonely pastiche of the kind of pastoral design Ignatz would paint on a morose day. It was a small house, more like a cabin, off the main road and without a real trail leading towards it. It looked recently abandoned, at least in the last few months, but she wasn’t sure what she’d be able to do if someone came back for it. Either way it was a place to get Ingrid into a real bed and for Dorothea to rest so that she could heal her.

She remembered, shamefully, that she also had to take care of the dear horse she’d nicked and made sure it had some water and a place to graze before taking a bucket of clean water from the well off to the side of the cabin. Dorothea put herself to work and filled a kettle with water to boil on the stove, while she used the rest of it to clean the grime off Ingrid.

Dorothea was muddy, dusty, and fatigued, but mostly clean. Her distance allowed her to be, while Ingrid had been right in the mix of things, of course, and the proof of which stained her broken armor.

A sob caught in Dorothea’s throat and then she swallowed it and did her best to get Ingrid out of what was left of her armor, happy to toss it aside and focus on her dear friend’s wounds. She was still too drained to do much, but she knew the ins and outs of first aid from the Professor’s insistence and if they didn’t kill her when she came back, she’d thank them for it.

She wondered how easy it would’ve been for her friends to try and kill her too if she’d never left the Black Eagles, but that was not helping her mood so she put it out of her mind. Ingrid’s armor had taken the bulk of the damage, burnt through and seared with magic, some of it not Dorothea’s, but the impact from falling from her pegasus had done its own damage and the bruising covered her like a second skin. Not to mention the axe wound that Dorothea had barely sealed up.

The kettle whistled and Dorothea poured it into two tea cups. One she put some dried tea leaves (no time for a strainer, she’d make do) and the other she left alone. She rummaged through the cupboards looking for some kind of alcohol, but whatever lonely soul had lived here, they had either drank all of it, or didn’t drink at all.

Dorothea moved back to Ingrid and used the hot water to clean off some of the more stubborn grime. She took a sip of tea and then soaked the spare cloth in it and pressed it onto the axe wound. Ingrid stirred with a small noise.

“Ingrid?” Dorothea asked, desperately hopeful.

But she didn’t wake. Dorothea took a moment to cry into her hands and then got back to tending her friend.

After she’d done as much as she could she sat on the floor and leaned against the bed, listening to the uneven breathing of the unconscious victim of her choices.

“I think whoever lived here was lonely,” Dorothea said, drawing her knees up to her chest. “There’s no decorations here. Reminds me of your room.” Her laugh was soft, but pressed against her lungs as it came out of her throat. “Were you lonely, Ingrid?”

“Of course you were,” Dorothea answered herself, because no one else would. “Suitors you didn’t know, set to take responsibility for your family, your closest friends wrapped in their own minds and businesses and… you know Sylvain is doing well.” She laughed again, pained. “I know, a little unbelievable, but he’s really matured, that or the Professor is scaring him into behaving.”

Dorothea pressed the edge of her palm against the corner of her eye, wiping away another errant tear. They were flowing freely now. “He was sure that you, that the Kingdom Army would be willing to listen and join sides, but Claude was worried and I’ve sadly learned that Claude’s worry means there’s something to worry about.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, trying not to think about the battle, but it blazed behind her eyes like _Meteor_ did when she realized Ingrid was flying right into its range.

“Why can’t they talk?” Dorothea asked. “Why can’t they all _talk_ to each other? Edie was so… she was so smart, Ingrid and lovely and I still can’t believe she’s doing this.”

“I hate this fighting,” Dorothea said, resting her chin on her knees and wrapping her arms around her legs, pulling all of herself inwards. “I hate this war. I hate that this person who lived here is probably dead or at the very least caught up in it and therefore likely to be dead soon.”

She really truly hoped it was all worth it, to see a better tomorrow for everyone. She knew Fódlan was broken. She had lived between the cracks of its breaks. But did it being broken mean it had to be shattered to be saved?

Dorothea shut her eyes and cried into her knees for a little while, but she felt no better than she did before, only more tired. She pushed herself to her feet.

“I have to get something to eat, Ingrid,” she said, turning back towards Ingrid’s prone, silent form. “I know it seems selfish and feels selfish, but if I don’t take care of myself I can’t take care of you. And I want to take care of you, so you’ll have to be patient.”

She busied herself in the kitchen, finding anything that looked like it might not have gone bad. There was a garden in the back, she remembered. It was difficult to leave Ingrid there, but there was nothing substantial in the cupboards other than that tea and some bread that had turned into a rock. She picked through the dirt, grabbing whatever she could find, even if it was overripe or underripe and quickly checked on the horse again before coming back inside. Ingrid was still under, but the rise and fall of her chest was also still there.

Dorothea wasn’t a particularly skilled cook, but she knew enough to scrape together something edible. She’d seen people do it at least. Throw things into a pot with water and cook. She picked out random things from the cupboard that were labeled after things she was sure were spices and put some of them in there too. Not… too much she still remembered the kitchen incident when she and Flayn had been on duty and they’d over salted and ruined the entire meal.

Ingrid had thought it was funny at the time, but then she’d taken a bite and then the face she made was actually what was funny.

The smile on Dorothea’s lips felt unearned and she twisted the ring around her finger as she watched Ingrid over the steam from the pot. Dorothea ate silently, willing herself to recover as much energy as necessary. She really hoped she didn’t also have to sleep too.

Her reserves hummed as she finished her meal. She’d been ravenous and hadn’t realized it until she’d started eating. The blood and death always turned her stomach far after she’d gone away from it.

Dorothea moved back towards Ingrid and concentrated on the axe wound first. There was likely internal injuries, but this was one Dorothea could see, so she wanted to make sure she took care of it first. The bruises reminded Dorothea of one of Hubie—one of Hubert’s spells, purple twisted with black. She’d told him it was pretty once and he’d laughed that little laugh of his.

He’d almost killed her the last time they’d fought. He had killed some of the lovely soldiers in the battalion accompanying her.

Dorothea stripped Ingrid to her underclothes so she could make sure there weren’t any more surprises and laughed at herself when she could feel the blush on her cheeks. She lightly touched her fingers to where it looked like the impact had made the most damage and closed her eyes.

Dorothea liked healing. She liked the way it sang. Manuela had once said that healing someone felt like an aria, waiting to become a duet. It was so different with attack magic, which seemed to come so much more easily to her. She hummed under her breath, one of the songs she’d sung at Mittlefrank—Ingrid once caught her singing it and instead of teasing asked her to explain the whole tale. Dorothea’s voice was still strained, but she turned the humming to singing anyway as she channeled the light feeling in her chest into her hands and into Ingrid’s body, willing her to health.

She’d been exhausted before, but Dorothea was completely spent now. She could do no more than sit on the floor and rest her head against the bed again before her eyes fluttered shut and exhaustion took her.

* * *

Dorothea woke to her name, spoken in a strained and confused feminine voice. She opened her eyes and fear gripped her that she was dreaming, until she turned around and saw Ingrid awake.

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” Dorothea said. “Ingrid, darling, how do you feel?”

“Where am I?” Ingrid asked, instead of answering. She squinted at the surroundings, lifted her head, and then wavered as she tried to sit up.

Dorothea rose up and grasped her shoulders, putting her back down. “None of that,” she said firmly, ignoring the tears tracking down their former path on her face. “You aren’t getting out of that bed until I’m sure you’re not going to—to—you’re not getting out of bed.”

Ingrid still looked confused, which was understandable. “Why are you crying?”

“Oh,” Dorothea wiped her face with her sleeve, regretting it, as it was not the cleanest, despite her distance from the front. “I’m always crying these days. Must be a way to get the dramatics out, since I can’t accomplish that from the stage right now.”

Ingrid closed her eyes and breathed like she was pained. “I’m dreaming.”

“You’d dream of me?” Dorothea asked, unable to help the coy tease to her voice. It had been _years_ and it still felt like days.

“Mhmm,” was all Ingrid said, before she must have fallen asleep again.

Dorothea checked her over to make sure it wasn’t anything more serious than sleep and when she was satisfied gave in to the urge to get herself cleaned up finally. She didn’t bother with warming up the water, even if a warm bath sounded like heaven at the moment. If Dorothea managed to get out of all of this she’d treat herself to a week in the sauna.

The closet was full of clothes. Simple things, jerkins, trousers, linen coats with ties. Looking at them made Dorothea unbearably sad, but she borrowed some anyway and took a blanket from the top of the closet to put over Ingrid. There was a mirror and Dorothea was very vain so she looked at herself. She looked so tired, but at least she was clean… in a stranger’s clothes.

There were so many clothes in that closet. Had the person who lived here thought they’d be back soon?

She shook her head and busied herself in the kitchen, trying to warm up the stew she’d made and attempting and then immediately giving up at the idea of making bread to go with it. Ingrid stirred as the smell started to permeate the air.

Dorothea smiled, tired, but fond at that.

“Do you think you can eat anything?” she asked. “It’s…” Had it been a day? Dorothea needed to check on the horse again. And they’d been walking for so long. “I think you’ll feel better after you eat.”

“I usually do,” Ingrid said and managed to lift up to her elbows, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

“That’s my girl,” Dorothea said, smiling warmly. She brought over her own bowl but set it aside and tried to give Ingrid hers, but her hands were shaking and Dorothea pulled it back. “Let’s not spill all over yourself when you’re au naturale.”

Ingrid gave her that confused look again, but didn’t resist Dorothea feeding her. She blew on the stew before each bite, careful to make sure Ingrid didn’t choke. The more she ate the better she looked and clearer those sharp green eyes became.

“You’re… here,” Ingrid said.

Dorothea nodded. “Dream come true apparently.”

Ingrid blinked at her, not herself enough to catch the tease apparently. “Where are we? What happened?”

Dorothea set aside Ingrid’s bowl and ate her own, which had gone a little cold by this point, but she was too hungry to be picky and having an excuse at the moment to occupy her mouth seemed wise. How was she supposed to say she almost killed her? How was she supposed to explain any of this? It had been an impulse, born out of desperation when she’d seen Ingrid fall. Dorothea hadn’t thought it through, she’d run into the fray and had been sure she was dead for a cold hard ten seconds.

“You were injured,” Dorothea said, after a few bites. “We’re in… at least I think we’re still in Alliance territory. I got a bit turned around looking for somewhere to rest.”

Ingrid looked around again. “You think we’re in Alliance territory?”

“Who can keep track these days?” Dorothea took another bite of her lukewarm stew. “Do you want more to eat?”

Ingrid looked at her, a little too shrewdly, but then sighed and nodded. Dorothea took the opportunity to reheat her own as she got Ingrid another serving.

“I can feed myself,” Ingrid said taking the bowl from her, but then added, “thank you.”

Silence for a bit too long as they both ate, then Ingrid brought back to point, as she usually did. “Did the Alliance capture me?”

Dorothea was caught by surprise and choked a laugh. “Ingrid? What? Why would we do that?”

“I’m a high rank in the army, I’m sure I’d be of some use to Claude.”

“You really don’t know Claude,” Dorothea said. Ingrid stared at her and sat up a little more, though still leaned back against the headboard.

“Dorothea, I need to know where I am and if… I have to get back.”

Get back. Get back to a new pegasus, a new battle, a new spell, a new injury. Dorothea’s heart ached.

“You’re not going anywhere right now,” Dorothea said. “You need time to heal. Magic can only do so much.”

“You healed me?” Ingrid asked, but it sounded more like she was affirming the answer to herself. “Is there anyone else here?”

“The horse,” Dorothea said. “I don’t know its name, so I’ve been calling it horse, which is a bit rude probably.”

Ingrid still looked bemused, but she held the bowl out. “Could I get another?”

Dorothea smiled and tried not to cry at the normalcy of it and nodded as she got Ingrid another serving. She couldn’t help watching Ingrid eat, the more she ate, the more voracious her appetite seemed to be and Dorothea thought of all those dinners in the dining hall with Ingrid’s face mussed with various sauces from meat and not a thought to ladylike decorum and behaving properly if there was a good enough meal in front of her.

“I don’t know if it’s because I am so hungry, but this is probably the best thing you’ve ever made,” Ingrid said, once she’d finished.

“Likely both,” Dorothea said. “I wouldn’t expect any other flair from me, though.” She sighed. “I did toy with the idea of bread for a moment, but I didn’t want to accidentally burn the cabin down.”

Ingrid’s lip twitched a little and she looked over at Dorothea. “You took me from the battlefield.” It wasn’t a question. “After that spell hit and I fell.”

Dorothea’s small bit of warmth in her chest blossomed into something else as her eyes stung again. “Oh, Ingrid. I’m so… I didn’t see you there.” She felt shattered around the edges, brittle and waiting to crack. It wasn’t merely today, now, or the day before. It was all of it.

Ingrid reached out and took her hand. “Dorothea, it’s all right. You saved my life.”

“I almost _killed_ you,” Dorothea said, tears streaming down her face again. She couldn’t believe Ingrid was comforting her in this situation.

“It’s been difficult to tell troops apart,” Ingrid said, matter-of-factly. “I doubt you targeted me on purpose.”

There was no hesitation in her voice. There was so many reasons there should have been. Dorothea took the hand Ingrid had placed on hers with both of her own and held it to her chest.

“Why are you always so practical?”

Ingrid gave her a tired smile. “There’s really nothing else to be at the moment.” She didn’t take her hand back but did yawn, covering it with her other. “How long do you think I’ll need to rest.”

Forever, Dorothea didn’t say. That was how long she wanted her to rest. How long she wanted her to stay.

“A few days,” Dorothea said. “I can’t be sure of the extent of your internal injuries and getting on a horse right now… well I won’t allow it.”

Ingrid sighed and closed her eyes. “I know how to make bread,” she said, sleep clinging to her words.

“Always a talent, my Ingrid,” Dorothea said. She was still holding onto Ingrid’s hand when Ingrid fell back into sleep. She pressed it against her face and cried again, in mostly relief. She did thank the Goddess, repeatedly and promised to do better at attending more than only choir practice when she got back.

There was only one bed in the cabin. Dorothea could have taken the small, sad little couch to sleep in, but she was bone tired and wanted to be as close to Ingrid as possible in case something took a turn, so she crawled in next her. Dorothea fell asleep listening to Ingrid’s breathing slowly even out, all while holding her hand.

* * *

They slept intermittently. Any time Ingrid stirred, Dorothea woke and checked on her. It was not the most restful of nights. She looked so much better in the morning though, even if Dorothea must have looked a mess.

“Does dry porridge go bad?” Dorothea asked Ingrid, who was still sitting on the bed, but completely upright.

Ingrid laughed, very softly. “There’s no such thing as dried porridge.”

Dorothea frowned and brought the canister to her. “What is this then and does it go bad?”

Ingrid took a look at it and still looked a little amused when she looked up. “It’s spelt and… I suppose given enough time, but this looks fine. Do you know how to make porridge?”

“Of course,” Dorothea scoffed, feeling a little insulted. “You pour the dry bits in water and boil it. Milk if you have it, which we don’t. Oh damn, I need to check on the horse again.”

She put down the spelt and walked outside, without her boots, like a fool, but had committed so she carefully stepped to the horse, who seemed… fine. She patted its neck. “I promise when we get through this, I shall convince Marianne to spoil you even more than she likely already does.”

Dorothea did see a barn in the back, but she decided to wait until she put her boots back on and Ingrid had eaten something to check. When she returned, Ingrid was at the stove, placing a cinnamon stick into the pot before covering it. She looked a little strained.

“Ingrid!” Dorothea scolded and went to her side, helping her to the nearest seat, which was the sad little couch. “I was only a minute.”

“I wanted to assess my own injuries,” Ingrid said. “And I’m hungry.”

“You’re _always_ hungry,” Dorothea said, with an exasperated sigh.

Ingrid stared up at her. The sharp, revealing look to her gaze was a bit too much, so Dorothea turned to find her boots. “How long will that take?”

“Fifteen minutes if we want it edible, forty if we want it to actually taste good.”

“A half hour, then, somewhere in the middle,” Dorothea said, nodding. “You can stay still for however long it takes me to find the horse some grain, yes? I don’t want to come back to you bread baking and going into a fit.”

Ingrid leaned back on the couch. “I promise I’ll stay where I am.”

“Good,” Dorothea said and quickly slipped her boots on. She tried to go as quickly as possible, finding an old reserve of grain that… maybe was for horse, perhaps cows, but whatever the case, it looked edible and the horse seemed pleased when she brought it to them.

Dorothea realized, while she watched the horse eagerly eat the grain, that the finery on it wasn’t Alliance. So she’d stolen an Imperial horse then. Well. That was that.

“You will be even more pleased with Marianne,” Dorothea said. “I doubt they have one of her in the Empire.”

They only had…

Dorothea shut her eyes and then took a deep breath before smiling… for the horse. “I didn’t want to name you, since I assumed you already had a name, but I don’t suppose we’ll find that out now, so how about…” She took a moment to glance underneath it. “Delphine?”

The horse made no reaction. “It’s the main character of a very good opera. I was the lead.”

Dorothea still received no response, but patted Delphine’s thick neck and refilled the water at her trough. She’d have to take her pacing, she supposed, but not let her roam if she was Imperial, they might have trained them to return home. Although, the horse was so amiable to an enemy taking control of her.

Why couldn’t people be more like horses?

“Oh, now I sound like Marianne,” Dorothea muttered to herself and returned to the cabin.

Ingrid was still sitting on the couch, thankfully. Dorothea hadn’t been worried, Ingrid was nothing if not stubborn to her word.

“There’s a bath,” Dorothea said. “I… I tried to clean you up, but I wasn’t able to get all of it and your hair,” she said and then noticed for the first time. “Oh, you cut it.”

Ingrid reached back at her hair as if she was checking the length. “Ah yes, more practical this way.”

“It suits you,” Dorothea said.

Ingrid gave a weak smile. “Your hair’s longer.”

“Less practical that way,” Dorothea said, and Ingrid’s smile strengthened a little. “Let me warm up some water.”

“Dorothea,” Ingrid said as Dorothea was already reaching for a bucket to retrieve more from the well.She turned towards Ingrid, bucket in hand, waiting. “Thank you.”

“Oh.” Dorothea waved her off and busied herself with the bucket again. “Its a bath, Ingrid. Purely selfish of me, I just need to get the smell out of the air and… maybe see you in the buff.”

She glanced back to see that Ingrid was blushing and beamed at her.

“You’re incorrigible,” Ingrid said.

“Yes,” Dorothea agreed and swept out the door for the water.

They’d eaten first, while the water cooled from a boil to something temperate. Ingrid had been right about the forty minutes, because the porridge was terribly chewy, but other than making her mouth stick, Dorothea couldn’t complain, because it did taste good.

“Did your brother teach you how to make this?” Dorothea asked. “Evin?”

Ingrid stared at her. “I can't believe you remember that.”

“ _Ingrid_ ,” Dorothea said with a huff. “You practically gushed when you talked about him, of course I remembered. Don’t ask me to remember the youngest boys though, you only called them the terrors.”

Ingrid still looked bewildered by Dorothea but her lips lifted in a faint smile. “Frey and Kelby."

“Still terrors?"

Ingrid looked away at that and took a bite of porridge, before Dorothea could ask the horrible question, Ingrid said, “they’re squiring for Galatea.”

“Aren’t they too young for that?” Dorothea asked.

“It’s not… entirely uncommon,” Ingrid said, staring down at her porridge. “They’re safer than most at the moment. Galatea isn’t bordering any Imperial territories. Yet.” She scowled. “With Gloucester siding with the Empire, it’s only a matter of time.”

“They’re trying to survive,” Dorothea said. “Lorenz is… attempting to make peace with it, without… well pissing off Edie.”

Ingrid glanced up at her. “You still call her that?”

Dorothea shrugged. “I’d like to believe she still is… somewhere.”

“I think that kind of optimism faded out of use five years ago,” Ingrid said. Her voice was bitter, but it didn’t even entirely directed outwards, even if it still stung. She stared down at her porridge again. “How’s… how’s Sylvain?”

“Oh!” Dorothea forgot herself. “I told you, but you couldn’t hear me… I,” at Ingrid’s confused look, Dorothea waved her hand, “never mind. He’s doing really well actually. I haven’t seen him skirt chase more than once a month.”

“Miracles do happen,” Ingrid said, her smile at it slowly shifting into—not a frown, but something on the edges of it, something sad.

Dorothea selfishly didn’t press. She didn’t want to lose this small bit of equilibrium yet. “How about that bath?” she suggested. “The water should be cooled enough by now.”

Ingrid nodded and lifted herself up. She was able to get to the tub, but then stopped, and pressed her hand on the lip of it. “I… may need help.”

“Can I play with your hair?” Dorothea teased. She could see Ingrid blushing even from behind her head. Dorothea laughed and shook her head. “Of course, I’ll help.”

It shouldn’t have been nearly as awkward as it was. She’d helped Ingrid dress and undress before at school. Well, she’d done it twice, once before the heron ball when Ingrid had almost backed out of wearing what Mercie and Annie had squeezed her into, and the other time was after escaping that horrid man who wanted to be affianced. This was, of course, closer to the second time.

They’d also been fairly close to naked in the sauna more than once. It shouldn’t have been awkward, helping Ingrid out of the borrowed clothes and then her underclothes and into the tub. It should have been all medical necessity.

Dorothea felt like Ingrid could probably see her own flush from behind once she was in the tub. She hid it by working diligently to scuff up soap into a cloth and helped Ingrid with any spot she couldn’t manage. She seemed fine once she was in the tub, though, so Dorothea was saved from… well it couldn’t have gotten more awkward, but that might have done it.

Dorothea felt better once she was sat on the upturned bucket, undoing all the little dirty ribbons in Ingrid’s hair. It must have looked lovely when it was first done.

Dorothea’s fingers brushed through Ingrid’s hair when it was undone. “Lean forward a bit, darling.”

Ingrid complied and Dorothea almost lost herself looking at the scarred places on her back. She held her tongue, unsure if she was impressed by the ropes of muscles that were supporting Ingrid’s seemingly small shoulders, or heartbroken at all the other close calls she’d missed.

“Hand me the soap?” Dorothea asked, once she was sure of her voice. Ingrid complied with this as well. The silence as Dorothea cupped water and soaped up Ingrid’s hair was a bit unbearable, so the humming started again on its own.

Dorothea was in the middle of tangling her fingers in Ingrid’s sun kissed strands that were finally looking less dirt and blood covered, when Ingrid let out a soft, happy little sigh. “I love that song.”

Dorothea smiled and took the opportunity to scratch Ingrid’s head a little, earning a happy noise in return. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“You voice isn’t forgettable, Dorothea,” Ingrid said.

“Ingrid you can’t say things like that to me while you’re naked, it’s unfair.”

Ingrid didn’t stiffen as she expected, but merely shrugged her muscular shoulders. “It’s true, whether I’m nude or not.”

“Well,” Dorothea said, feeling very much like she was the one being teased now. “Thank you. I haven’t been putting it to much use lately.”

“Could you,” Ingrid started, paused and then a little quieter, said, “would you sing it for me again?”

That warmth in Dorothea’s chest blossomed again and she took a shaky breath and smiled, even though Ingrid couldn’t see it. “Of course.”

The aria was a melodic sorrow. It was near the end of the third act, where Delphine had found her true love was dead and she’d have to marry someone else and with all the dramatics that the opera loved (and Dorothea loved), Delphine had decided to throw herself off the tallest spire of the palace instead. The song was sad, but it was full of longing and in a morbid way, hope. Delphine would be reunited with her love again, she only had to take the first last step.

Dorothea realized Ingrid’s hair was overdue for a rinse by the time she’d finished—she’d gotten far too into it to notice she’d merely been resting her hands against Ingrid’s neck.

When Dorothea reached for the pot of clean water she’d set aside to rinse, Ingrid was crying.

“Ingrid,” Dorothea said, so softly, so she didn’t volunteer her own tears in return. Her voice was shaky as she tried to joke. “I don’t know if you’re moved to tears because I did too well to encapsulate it or because I’ve lost my touch.”

Ingrid wiped her eyes with her forearm and shook her head. “I’m… I’m exhausted. It’s…” She put her head in her hands, the water sloshed.

Dorothea swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Ingrid,” she said gently. “Let me finish your hair.”

Ingrid nodded and leaned back slightly, as Dorothea sloshed the water over, letting the final bits of the violence wash clean and there was Ingrid again. Her Ingrid.

“Why are you crying?” Ingrid asked, looking up at her.

Dorothea laughed, she hadn’t realized she’d started again. “I’m always crying these days.”

They didn’t say anything else and Dorothea couldn’t find the strength to fill the silence with even hums. She merely helped Ingrid out of the tub, clean now, dried off and into another set of clean clothes, ignoring the pile of damaged armor shoved surreptitiously into the corner like an ill omen.Ingrid napped again, giving Dorothea enough time to empty the tub. The buckets of stained water she threw, harder on each go, into the grass outside felt like relief — but it was merely a reprieve.

When Ingrid awoke again, they didn’t speak about it and Ingrid merely walked Dorothea through making bread with the spelt.

“Is this going to taste the same as the porridge?” Dorothea asked as she dutifully followed instructions, resisting the urge to tell Ingrid she felt like her housewife.

“No,” Ingrid said, so much more relaxed now. “That was flavored with sweet things, this is let alone and it’s to dip into that stew anyway.” She sighed. “I wish there was some meat.”

“Yes, well. I may be amazing, but running out into the woods to capture a deer or rabbit is not on my list of skills,” Dorothea said. Her hands felt warm as they molded the bits of dry and wet until they formed something whole. “This is kind of fun,” she said.

“Its been a long time since I’ve made it, well, helped make it,” Ingrid amended at Dorothea’s raised eyebrow. “Mostly camp rations these days.”

The Monastery’s rations had been tight, but that last battle was supposed to free up the trade route to bring in more merchants. She wondered if that meant there’d be less for others. Everyone was starving, while they all fought for what? Hope that this would end?

Dorothea took it out on the dough.

“You’re good at this part,” Ingrid said, sounding amused. She sighed, wistfully. “Evin would love you.”

“Mm,” Dorothea said, still rolling the dough and folding it over. “You did never introduce me to your family after we got engaged.”

“We got—what?”

Dorothea glanced back at her and held her spelt flour covered hand up, wiggling her finger. She winked at Ingrid, barely holding back her amusement.

Ingrid didn’t look embarrassed as she’d expected. She looked… shocked. “You kept that?”

Dorothea felt her heart flutter in her chest and looked away, taking it out on the dough again and ignoring the lump in her throat she had to swallow around again. “Should I not have?” she asked, trying to make her voice light.

“No, I… I’m surprised, that’s all. I’m sure you must’ve received better jewelry by now. I’m… actually I didn’t ask, are you, did you get married?”

Dorothea bit her lip, wishing she’d been looking at Ingrid so she could’ve seen her face while she stumbled past the words. “No,” Dorothea said. “It’s a bit difficult to court these days. Most of the marriages are based on how many troops you can bring to their territory, not how pretty a girl is or how well she sings.”

Too much to hope for that Ingrid’s responding sigh had been relief. “They’re idiots, Dorothea.”

“Maybe,” Dorothea said. “We all have different priorities these days.”

“Different sides,” Ingrid said and then, with a gravel to her voice. “The dough should be done by now, we need to let it rest a bit before we bake it.”

Dorothea’s sigh was definitely _not_ from relief. She would miss the distraction. She wiped her hands on her trousers and then went to grab something better to clean them with when that did nothing. Ingrid was watching her, as she went from cleaning her hands to untying her hair and running her fingers through it out of habit.

“Ingrid, if you’re not going to do anything about it, you need to stop looking at me like that.”

Dorothea had meant to say it teasing, but it had come out so _sincere_ that she wanted to spontaneously burst into flames.

“Is it… bad,” Ingrid asked, “that I’m relieved you’re not married?”

Dorothea’s heart skipped a beat in her chest. “No,” she said, breathless.

Ingrid’s eyes were so mournful and so encompassing. “That song, the Lament of Delphine, I used to think about Glenn when you’d sing it. And I heard it again, once a few years back, by a boy no older than the twins, he was cleaning the stables, and I … it only made me think of you.”

Dorothea strode towards Ingrid and sat next to her, taking her hands into her own. “After I sang it for you, I never did for anyone else.”

Ingrid’s smile was pained and her eyes were tearing as badly as Dorothea’s own. It was a silly, foolish thing to kiss, but they both did it anyway. It felt like a release from the tension that had been trapping Dorothea for five years as Ingrid kissed her. She felt her heart rise into her throat and back down again as Ingrid ran her hands through her hair and kissed her better than the co-lead of any opera or suitor, had. Her lips were soft, chapped, and she smelled like the soap they’d used and Dorothea pulled her closer. Maybe if she pulled her close enough, she’d be able to keep her forever.

They did have to breathe at some point, so Ingrid pulled back and Dorothea clung to her, burying herself in Ingrid’s shorter hair and closing her eyes tightly. “Dorothea,” Ingrid said softly.

“Please,” Dorothea said, unsure of what she was even asking for. “Please.”

Ingrid gently pulled her back and then pressed her forehead to Dorothea’s own, eyes shining like the open fields after a fresh rain in spring. “Okay.”

Dorothea wasn’t sure she’d ever had a, if not happier, more complete time in her life. Ingrid helped her finish off the bread (which tasted wonderful and improved a second day of stew tenfold), and they sat and talked. They talked about their lives that the war hadn’t managed to steal. Dorothea spoke of the children they’d taken in, that she was trying to teach how to read music, as well as books, and the opera she’d been toying around with (minus the details which got too close to delving into all the things they weren’t speaking of). Ingrid told Dorothea of Galatea and her father’s health, and how Evin had completely lost his sight now. She spoke of how guilty she felt sometimes about how much she enjoyed being a knight even if she didn’t love how it happened.

They talked all night, until they didn’t talk at all. Dorothea wrapped herself up so tightly in Ingrid she wasn’t sure she’d breathe right again. She let her hands wander wherever they’d always wanted to wander and Ingrid was gentle and sweet in a way men never had been. She kissed Dorothea’s ring and the smile she gave her melted Dorothea’s heart into liquid.

Ingrid, on the mend, was more tired than Dorothea, so she fell asleep first, hands and legs entwined with Dorothea’s own, staring at her with all the fondness in the world as if Dorothea was a precious thing. And Dorothea watched Ingrid sleep, like she had that first night, and thought, maybe, maybe, maybe…

* * *

The morning was terrible. Dorothea supposed it would’ve technically been worse if Ingrid had merely left, but she felt like it would’ve been a cleaner cut than this.

“You _can’t_ ,” Dorothea said, as Ingrid returned to reassembling her armor as best as she could manage. It was _so_ broken, how could she even think to put it back on.

The softness from the night before was gone and Ingrid was hard and unyielding. “I can’t abandon my responsibilities.”

“We’re not on opposite sides of this war!” Dorothea said, hating how emotional her voice was getting. No one ever won an argument on emotion, but she could feel her heart breaking into pieces and it was happening so slowly it was torture.

Ingrid shut her eyes, her voice was horse. “If you don’t get in his way, you won’t be.”

“They call him the Tempest King,” Dorothea said. “You want to serve a mad king? You want to _die_ for a mad king?”

“If that’s what he asks of me,” Ingrid said, stubbornly pulling her greaves on. “Then yes.”

“That’s insane, Ingrid!”

“No, it’s my duty. I made an oath.” Ingrid sighed and strapped something on, Dorothea couldn’t be fussed to remember the name of. “He’s not… His Majesty is focused. It’s hard not to be with what Edelgard has been doing. I can’t abandon my king and my kingdom, Dorothea.”

“For me,” Dorothea said, the sting in her eyes and her voice. She felt only a little satisfaction as Ingrid flinched from that. “That’s what you’re saying, right?”

“For anything,” Ingrid said, strained and pulled her gloves on. They were still covered with the after effects of magic and blood that was likely Ingrid’s own.

“Please,” Dorothea begged. “The tides of the war are turning. Claude and the Professor are trying to end this war and they’re going to win and if they don’t, you still don’t look like you will.”

Ingrid swallowed and Dorothea finally felt her heart crack into a million pieces. “You know that,” she said, softly. “You know you’ll lose and you’d still go back? You’d still…”

Ingrid looked down, tears at the corners of her eyes. “Without my word, I’m _nothing_.”

“Darling,” Dorothea said, her own tears freely falling ages ago, “don’t you realize you’re _everything_ to me?”

Ingrid shut her eyes so tightly, that for one solid moment, Dorothea thought that maybe she’d gotten through, but then Ingrid pushed herself out the door without a word. Dorothea was too wrecked to follow her, too wrecked to beg, to scream, to plead. She knew it would do nothing.

So she put her head in her hands and cried, until she couldn’t cry anymore. And then she rose to her feet, and gathered her things, expecting to walk to the nearest territory. When she looked, however, Delphine was waiting for her, freshly tacked and saddled.

Dorothea put a hand over her mouth. She had always enjoyed the dramatics of the opera, the sad tragedies were so beautiful in their own way.

Now she hated them.

* * *

“You did so well today, Delphine,” Marianne’s sweetly soft voice was saying to Dorothea’s favorite, though rarely ridden, horse.

There was another war council meeting, fresh off the so called victory at Gronder. She didn’t attend. She wasn’t surprised Marianne hadn’t either. “I told her you’d spoil her,” Dorothea said, softly.

Marianne looked slightly embarrassed that she hadn’t noticed Dorothea’s approach, but smiled that sweet shy little smile of hers and stroked Delphine’s neck. “She has a very gentle spirit.”

“Mm,” Dorothea said and couldn’t help but reach out to stroke the other side of her horses’s neck. Her horse. What a silly thing to call something that had only been hers for such a short time. The horse had been someone else’s before and likely was someone’s now, as Dorothea rarely rode her out, but she wouldn’t be wasted in the stables.

“I don’t like it either,” Marianne said, quietly.

Dorothea wanted to joke with her and pretend she thought Marianne meant she didn’t like the horses, but she was too tired to joke. She wondered who her spells had killed. It had been impossible to see anyone there. They’d only said the king died, crawled towards his vengeance like a rabid dog. No one cared enough to say if any other solider had followed, crawling right along with him.

“Do you think it’ll be worth it?” Dorothea asked, softly.

“I hope so,” Marianne said. “And I hope that the Goddess will forgive us if it’s not.”

Dorothea scoffed and dropped her hand. “The Goddess should be lucky if I forgive _her_.”

Marianne looked hurt by that and Dorothea honestly hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t muster up the fake cheer to laugh it off. There was a hollow place her chest where her heart used to be. “Don’t mind me,” Dorothea said, looking away. “Thank you for spoiling Delphine.”

Marianne nodded, shyly. Dorothea would probably regret it later and try to make it up to her, she dearly hated making a girl who always felt bad about herself feel even worse, but all she could do was leave her alone. Dorothea walked the grounds aimlessly. She tried to move her stride far enough away from anyone who might try to talk to her.

Dorothea stared out at the open field in front of Garreg Mach. She stared out and tried to imagine a horse riding, or a pegasus flying, or even lonely footsteps. She tried to imagine her Ingrid, coming back to her, a knight without a king or kingdom. She would throw her arms around her, Ingrid would whisper her apologies, and they’d step into a new world, a better world together. She tried to will it to be so.

Dorothea saw nothing but trees and a field. She closed her eyes and felt unable to keep standing as she sank to the ground. Her voice was hoarse and it was barely audible enough to be considered a true song, but Dorothea sang Ingrid’s aria, one last time.


End file.
